Beneath the city, inside the cold and damp recesses of the Second Waterway, Agatha, the stalwart gatekeeper, ventured deeper into the foreboding chasm. It was a grim, inhospitable space that threatened to consume her with its pervading chill and looming uncertainty.
Her uniform, a once-proud symbol of the city-state’s defenders, was now threadbare and tattered. It had lost its original luster, just like her battered combat staff. Once a marvel of advanced technology, the staff now bore the signs of relentless battles with numerous marks and scratches. Her physical pain and fatigue had faded into a distant memory, replaced by the eerie resonance of the underground world echoing in her ears.
Although Agatha felt as if she had been drained of all her blood, her heart continued to persevere, beating a determined rhythm in the face of imminent death. The specter of mortality was so close that every breath she drew seemed laced with the icy touch of the hereafter. Alone in this darkened tunnel, there were no allies to accompany her, and it felt like an eternity since she had faced off against an enemy.
Yet, Agatha was not entirely alone. As she neared the brink of death, a faint flame flickered to life, providing a comforting warmth that belied its modest intensity.
Cradling the sudden “spark” close to her chest with her left hand, Agatha allowed its soft green light to play on her face, casting eerie shadows that danced along the dingy corridor. She cherished the subtle warmth that the flame emitted, an essential respite against the increasing cold that seemed to mark her journey ahead.
But was it the path that was becoming colder, or was it her own body succumbing to the chill? She couldn’t discern the truth.
As she navigated her way, Agatha confided in her luminescent companion, “I’ve passed the junction in the upper city and am now entering the labyrinthine tunnels surrounding the metal mine…” She studied an old, worn-out plaque affixed to the wall nearby. This relic of a bygone era held maps of the city streets above the sewers, allowing her to orient herself and ascertain her current location. “The path here has been eerily devoid of adversaries, but an oppressive, biting cold hinders my progress.”
Deep and solemn, a voice reverberated in her heart, suggesting, “Perhaps, the cultists have abandoned their efforts to obstruct your path by sending their minions… They may be focusing on the impending climax.”
Agatha inquired, “What’s the situation on the surface?”
“A thick fog has engulfed the entire city-state. The city’s defenders are keeping order, urging the populace to remain inside their homes. At certain intersections, squads of defenders can be spotted, lanterns in hand to guide their night patrol amidst the dense fog that blocks the sun’s energy,” the solemn voice informed Agatha. “A similar fog is also rising from the sea surrounding the city-state, possibly spreading hundreds of nautical miles out into the open water.”
“The heretics have made their move,” Agatha murmured softly into the hollow silence, “It’s possible that my intervention has forced their hand, pushing them to act ahead of schedule…”
“Your state doesn’t seem to be at its peak.”
“Indeed, I might be severely wounded,” Agatha responded, persisting in her relentless advance. She found her breath hitching with exertion, but her mental clarity was astonishingly unscathed, “However, don’t concern yourself with my wellbeing. I am ready to face the possibility of death. I promise to carry your spark into the heart of their stronghold, come what may.”
“I would much prefer it if you were to complete this mission while still among the living. Agatha, you might be a servant of the god of death, but there’s no need to hasten your audience with Bartok. That being said, I’ve recently found myself pondering something about you death clerics. In your eyes, is ‘death’… a demotion or a promotion?”
Caught off guard, Agatha paused for a moment, a shadow of a smile creeping onto her lips. “Your attempt at humor is unexpected. Regrettably, I can’t provide a satisfactory response. I doubt any cleric of death throughout the annals of history has ever contemplated such a question. But if the chance arises later… I’ll ponder it.”
“I look forward to hearing your insights,” The voice in her mind retreated into silence.
With a soft exhalation, Agatha felt a strange sensation, as if her laboring breaths were becoming a tad smoother and her footsteps a bit more agile.
She stole a glance at the fragile spark cradled protectively in her left hand and moved past yet another point.
Water seeped from an adjacent drain, pooling on the cold stone floor into a modest puddle. The tranquil surface of the water reflected the dim, arched ceiling of the waterway.
As Agatha carefully sidestepped the puddle, the otherwise calm surface quivered, the ripples distorting the mirror-like reflection to reveal an apparition. It was a figure shrouded in a black cloak, swathed in bandages, and gripping a simple metal staff.
From whence Agatha had come, the spectral figure was moving in the opposite direction. For a brief, fleeting moment, their paths intersected.
…
Without warning, Agatha came to an abrupt halt, her gaze drawn back to the spot she had just navigated. A perplexed expression crossed her face as she noticed the small puddle, its surface still resonating with ripples from her recent passage.
In the shattered and fragmented reflection, the spectral figure was nowhere to be seen, yet Agatha couldn’t shake the feeling that she had witnessed something.
It was an image of a figure that bore a striking resemblance to her, yet not quite the same. The figure was dressed in a battle-worn black robe riddled with scars, suggesting a history of relentless combat. Its path was set toward the deeper recesses of the Second Waterway, the exact place she had just left.
As she stood in silent contemplation, a voice called out from behind her, breaking her train of thought, “Gatekeeper? Is something amiss?”
“That puddle…” Agatha abruptly turned, indicating a distant point with an outstretched finger, “Has it always been there? Did you spot anything peculiar about it?”
“The puddle?” Her subordinate followed her line of sight, a hint of confusion crossing her face, “Yes, it has been there… but I can’t say I noticed anything unusual about it.”
Agatha didn’t offer a reply, instead falling into a thoughtful silence. Her eyes were fixated on the puddle’s gently rippling surface, and as the moments passed, her gaze deepened, filled with profound contemplation and gravity.
“Did you see something?” Her subordinate finally asked, unable to hide the growing concern in her voice.
After what seemed like an eternity, Agatha slowly shook her head, her voice a comforting whisper, “Don’t worry, everything is fine, everything… is fine.”
Her subordinate appeared still somewhat bewildered, but the somber expression on Agatha’s face urged her to suppress her curiosity. Swiftly, she shifted the conversation, “Did you discover something beyond that door? You had a grave look when you returned…”
Agatha’s fragmented thoughts quickly solidified. Lifting her gaze, she looked back in the direction they had traveled from. The entrance leading to the deserted mine was now obscured behind a series of turns, yet she could still recall with striking clarity what she had stumbled upon in the gloomy depth of that mine.
She had not ventured far into the mine. After confirming her suspicions, she promptly guided her team back along the Second Waterway and set course for the base. Out of a sense of caution, she also refrained from revealing her discoveries to her subordinates.
Even now, she was uncertain about how to articulate her strange and unnerving… “hypothesis” to the dedicated protectors before her.
Hesitant for a fleeting moment, she finally turned on her heel and continued towards the base.
Having covered some distance, she softly broke the silence as if musing aloud, “How does Frost… sustain its existence?”
“How does Frost maintain its existence?” Her subordinate was taken aback, unable to grasp the context of Agatha’s query. After a brief pause, she ventured tentatively, “You mean… the source of the city-state’s income? The trade in selling metal ore?”
“Metal ores are the lifeblood of Frost, and the mine is the city-state’s heart…” Agatha intoned cryptically, puzzling the guardians clad in black, “It seems none of us have ever considered… when this heart might falter.”
Another guardian, visibly anxious, stepped forward, concern etched across her face, “You…”
Agatha raised her hand gently, effectively cutting her subordinate off.
“Try not to overthink it for now, nothing is confirmed yet. Yes, I did find something behind that door, but before I can share it with you, I need to discuss with the Archbishop.”
With these words, Agatha seemed to have regained her momentarily lost composure.
Perhaps her worries had been premature. It was only an arid, forsaken mine, and it was not unusual to find barren tunnels within an ancient mine that had been excavated extensively over the years. The city council’s decision to seal it off was likely motivated by other factors—most probably some sort of contamination that may have existed at some point but was now no longer detectable.
Jumping to conclusions prematurely was a grave mistake in investigative work.
Agatha gave her head a slight shake, but the image that had appeared in the puddle crept back into her thoughts.
The eerie “reflection” of herself, smeared with blood, and walking in the opposite direction.
Agatha gently closed her eyes, her knuckles turning a shade lighter from the tight grip she had on her staff. However, moments later, she shot open her eyes again, her face a picture of calm resolve.
There was much more she had to do.
In silence, Agatha led her group of guardians back to their underground base, located at the junction of the tunnels. Upon their arrival, she was immediately struck by an unusual atmosphere.
An air of tension hung heavy over the base. A priestess, looking as though she had just descended from the vertical shaft, was engaged in an urgent conversation with the base’s defense coordinator. Several steam walkers that had been dispatched earlier to patrol the adjacent tunnels were called back prematurely and seemed to be getting ready to ascend to the surface using the elevator.
Agatha quickly approached them, but before she could ask anything, the commander of the base, a guardian clad in black, spoke up urgently, “Gatekeeper, there’s a situation on the surface.”
Agatha’s eyebrows knitted together in concern, “What kind of situation?”
“Fog, an extensive and strange fog, has enshrouded the entire city-state and extended to the sea. The sky is so overcast that it’s obscuring the sun,” the commander explained hurriedly, “Also, hostile entities have emerged in the library and archives. Although the on-duty scholars managed to suppress them quickly, the city is now in the grip of panic and chaos. The Archbishop has sent someone here, requesting your immediate return!”
